


a way to you

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Omega Genji, implied Shimadacest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: It takes a week of Hanzo’s absence for the family to give up on him.One week of Genji’s most desperate prayers, his begging to the hateful gods that cursed the house Shimada--seven days, and then he finds himself face-down on a thin mat in a room large enough to fit the gathered Council and elders, laid bare and shivering in the chilly air. He’s positioned the way they told him to be, holding still where their hands have put him--hips arched to show off the curve of his spine, the plump round of his ass; arms back, feet raised, so he can just barely brush his fingertips across his heels, can show the prospective alphas his flexibility--and he hates it, hates them, hates the way their dull eyes stare into him and the placating tones of their voices as they tell him,“It is tradition, Genji. It is your duty.”





	a way to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karu/gifts).



> for tastyboygenji's [lovely omega!Genji comic](https://tastyboygenji.tumblr.com/tagged/a%2Fb%2Fo)

It takes a week of Hanzo’s absence for the family to give up on him.

One week of Genji’s most desperate prayers, his begging to the hateful gods that cursed the house Shimada--seven days, and then he finds himself face-down on a thin mat in a room large enough to fit the gathered Council and elders, laid bare and shivering in the chilly air. He’s positioned the way they told him to be, holding still where their hands have put him--hips arched to show off the curve of his spine, the plump round of his ass; arms back, feet raised, so he can just barely brush his fingertips across his heels, can show the prospective alphas his flexibility--and he hates it, hates them, hates the way their dull eyes stare into him and the placating tones of their voices as they tell him, _“It is tradition, Genji. It is your duty.”_

On the wall behind him is a fine tapestry, depicting a great twisting dragon with scales of blinding gold; it overlooks the room with jaws parted wide, ready to devour him whole in a glittering embodiment of the honor Genji is here to restore, the bloodline he is doomed to further. 

The dragons have always brought him comfort, before, pulsing hot through his blood to remind him of the name he bears when others call him unworthy. Now he wants nothing more than to hide from them and their bright gazes, and presses his cheek into the mat below him, eyes squeezed shut against the humiliation that has him flushing from his cheeks to his shoulders.

It’s not like he’s never been on display before--there’s been a handful of nights that found him stretched out in sleazy dive bars, the product of too many drinks and good drugs and forgotten inhibitions, but those nights also always included Hanzo sitting in a corner nearby, his eyes dark and watching Genji from the shadows, ready to step in at a moment’s notice if he was needed.

Genji’s own personal dragon, guarding his favorite treasure.

But here, there is no Hanzo. There is only the burning stares of the elders with judgement in their eyes, and the strange, rough hands that touch him, the unknown voices that purr promises they can’t keep in his ear: whispers of _“I’m going to knock you up”, “You’ll feel so good”, “I’ll breed you over and over”._

Lies.

He can tell it’s not working by the time the first alpha fucking into him reaches completion, spraying thick and hot and useless inside him. He grimaces as the man pulls out and leaves him aching; straightens up when commanded and wipes the sweaty bangs out of his eyes, holds his breath as he locks gazes with the elders--stares down his own family post-fuck, one by one, more and more humiliated by the disappointment he finds in each gaze.

_“It didn’t work. Try again.”_

Genji wonders if the stranger behind him even has time to realize the gravity of his failure before he’s cut down.

The body collapses in front of his face with such a shocked expression etched across its features that he doubts it. Genji stares down at the fresh corpse and feels the spatter of the stranger’s blood, warm and arched across his face, like it’s burning--Genji had been fucked by him, had been the cause of his death, and yet he still didn’t even know his name. 

He’s grown used to the violence in their family, through the years. He’s no stranger to the smell of death or the taste of blood on his lips, to hearing some poor fuck cry out as their life is snuffed; he’s taken more than a few, with his own hands. 

But this--the abruptness to it, the way the alphas waiting behind him stiffen in shock--this is something else entirely. Something different than the vindication in running a rival clan leader through the gut, this is callous and cold, methodical like execution, unworthy beasts sent to slaughter now that they’ve proven their uselessness.

Not that Genji has any time to linger on it, as the men keep coming.

Three fucks in and he’s still not aroused at all--his cock hang soft and small between his legs, while his slit is barely slick enough to let the alpha’s shaft inside without stripping him raw--and yet, Genji doesn’t particularly mind. He thinks he hates it more when they touch him, actually; when they run their fingertips gently over his nipples or press soft kisses under his jaw, try to make him enjoy it as he’s forced to give himself up, time and time again. It never works because it always feels wrong, so much so that he could never hope to get hard from it--their contact unnatural, painful, each touch more sickening than the last, and by the time he’s staring down into the third alpha’s dead, glassy eyes, he knows exactly why.

It’s because they’re not Hanzo.

The fourth potential mate slides into him with a grip on his thighs so hard Genji is sure he will bruise, and he tunes out the man’s meaningless words, screwing his eyes shut against the pain that lances hot up his spine. He grits his teeth and rides out the fucking, tries to ignore everything from the blood drying tacky across his belly to the feeling of the alpha rutting into him, the slap of his balls against Genji’s ass; he doesn’t straighten up this time, when the alpha cums. He’s so tired that all he can manage is tilting his head back, looking at the oldest in his family--and even upside down, the man’s distaste is evident, sharp in his voice as he says, “It’s still not taking. We will find a new group of alphas, and try again tomorrow.”

Genji closes his eyes and bites down on the sob that tries to slip past his lips, and feels no shame in the tears that race hot down his cheeks. He hears the soft ring of Sojiro’s sword leaving its hilt, then the solid _thunk_ of a body hitting the floor; he bites his knuckles to keep the cries at bay and tries not to think of the life the unfortunate alpha could have lived, had he not been chosen for the impossible task of breeding a broken omega. 

Above all he thinks of Hanzo, and wonders how long he must suffer before his dragon returns.


End file.
